


silver and copper

by ictus



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bloodplay, Chocolate Box Treat, Knifeplay, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-25 01:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17715338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: It is the duty of the First Officer to anticipate his Captain’s needs.





	silver and copper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Measured_Words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/gifts).



> For Measured_Words, thank you so much for reminding me why I love this series and this pairing in particular. Your prompts really inspired me, I hope you enjoy this!

 

Ayel hesitates at the entrance to the Captain’s quarters, his hand hovering over the touch sensor. He has been called upon for this purpose several times before, but this is the first time he’s taken it upon himself to initiate without prior instruction. After all, it is the duty of the First Officer to anticipate his Captain’s needs.

Nero is an imposing figure when he answers the door, fierce and intimidating even when unarmed and dressed down to his sleep clothes. Ayel’s pulse quickens.

“Captain,” he says with a small incline of his head, “I wish to speak with you in private.”

Ayel notes his displeasure in the set of his jaw, in the furrow of his brow—but he refuses to waver under his glare. Nero steps aside wordlessly, allowing him access into his quarters.

He waits for the door to close behind him and counts out several breaths. He could still back out of this. It’s not too late for him to claim that he wished to speak of their latest flight trajectories, or perhaps of their dwindling supplies. The lie is right there on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for him to breathe life into it.

Instead, he says, “Remove your tunic and lie down on the bed.”

Ayel’s face colours as if shocked by his own boldness, the green hue faint in the dimly lit room. He doesn’t allow for any other trace of embarrassment or uncertainty to show on his face, even as Nero’s lip curls into a snarl, his chin jutted forward in defiance.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I have asked it of you,” he says, his voice coming out steadier than he’d hoped. “And it is your desire to comply with my wishes.”

Nero’s nostrils flare at his words, a brief flash of anger passing his features. Ayel’s heart pounds in his gut, the silence weighing heavily on them both until finally, Nero moves. Never once breaking eye contact, he slowly removes his tunic and drops it to the ground, leaving his chest bare. His body is battle-worn and covered in tattoos, intricate pieces that tell a story of love and grief, a tribute to everything he has lost. Nero lowers himself to the bed, holding Ayel’s gaze in a final act of defiance even as he complies with his orders.

Ayel pauses for several long breaths, enjoying the rush of being fully-clothed while his Captain lies bare and vulnerable before him, feeling the power shift between them with every exhalation. He holds his position for as long as he dares, feeling Nero become more and more agitated under his gaze as the seconds drag on.

When he approaches Nero, his steps are sure. Previously when he’s done this, he’s knelt beside his Captain, ever subservient. But this time is different. When he reaches the bed he swings a leg over Nero, straddling his hips and pinning him with his weight. Nero’s soundless gasp and the way his eyes widen tell him his gamble has paid off. He braces himself with a hand over Nero’s abdomen, right over his heart, just so he can feel it jump as he draws his dagger.

“The crew grow restless,” he murmurs, turning the silver blade so it catches in the light. “You can feel it too.”

Nero doesn’t respond but Ayel doesn’t expect him to. There is a surrender in his silence that sets Ayel’s nerves alight, spurs him on. “Your grip on command is slipping. They begin to lose faith.”

At these words, Ayel presses the flat of his blade to his left pectoral, right where his heart would be if he were Andorian or Terran. This part of his chest is unmarked by scars or tattoos, and Ayel suppresses the urge to run his fingers over the smooth skin, knows that to do so would relinquish his control on the situation.

“Their discontent is a direct consequence of your failure,” he says, pressing down. Nero gasps through gritted teeth as the wound bleeds copper down his ribs, drying green on his skin. “Our setback in the Pheben Sector cost us a dozen crew members,” he says, making several more cuts, each parallel to first. Beneath him, Nero holds his breath, completely still.

“Their loss could have been prevented,” he says with another cut. He locks eyes with Nero. “ _You_ could have prevented it.”

Nero groans at a particularly deep cut, his hands twitching uselessly by his sides. Ayel can feel Nero responding beneath him, the hard line of his erection pressing against Ayel’s hip every time he leans forward. Ayel begins slowly rocking against him, the friction making Nero gasp even through two layers of fabric.

This too, is power.

Nero meets his gaze with hooded eyes, his lips parted as he arches up against Ayel’s weight. He’s slow to respond to Ayel’s words, replying as if in a daze. “We were outnumbered, I had no choice—”

“There is _always_ a choice,” he says, drawing the tip of the blade over one of the open wounds, causing Nero to gasp and writhe beneath him. Ayel himself is hard and aching, and he can’t help but meet each movement of Nero’s hips with one of his own, losing himself in the sensation, his control over the situation weakening.

“You suggest a retreat?” he growls, the very idea an insult.

“I suggest,” he says, spreading the blood with his fingers, “preserving the lives of our crewmembers unless their sacrifice is of value. In this case,” another cut, “it was not.”

Nero’s chest shudders beneath his fingers, a stuttered breath escaping his lips. Ayel is dizzy with feeling of having Nero underneath him, of how desperate he his for his touch. Nero has never reacted this way before and Ayel finds himself in uncharted territory. His tenuous grip on the situation is rapidly slipping through his fingers, feeling as though he will betray his own desire at any moment.

“It is not a question of loyalty,” he murmurs as Nero hisses out a curse at another cut. “We would each of us follow you to our deaths.” _I would follow you to my death,_ is what he wants to say. _I would kill for you, I would die to you, I would follow you to the very edges of space, I would travel through realities for you._ Instead, he leans forward and presses the flat of his tongue to the deepest cut, licking a line along the length of the wound. Nero gasps at the rough texture of his tongue against the sensitive skin, his hips rolling against Ayel’s with renewed fervour. Ayel repeats the movement again and again, the metallic taste blooming bright on his tongue.

When Ayel digs the tip of his tongue between the parted skin, Nero’s gasp is so intoxicating that Ayel can’t stop himself from meeting his lips and swallowing it. Nero freezes against him for the briefest of moments before he’s grabbing Ayel with both hands, holding him steady while he draws his lower lip between his teeth. Ayel groans as Nero bites down, yields easily as Nero licks his way into his mouth. Already, there’s a shift between them, the final thread of Ayel’s control stretching and breaking as Nero devours him.

He still has the knife, though. He can pull this back.

Ayel is breathless by the time they draw apart, the knife trembling slightly where he holds it against Nero’s skin. Nero growls low in his throat and knocks it out of his hand with all the irritation of someone swatting a fly.

“On your knees. Now.”

If Ayel had any chance at reclaiming the upper hand, that window is rapidly closing. Nero’s tone is commanding and leaves no room for dissention, the same tone with which he fires off orders to his crew, and Ayel finds himself responding before he can stop himself.

“Yes Captain.”

Ayel climbs off him gracelessly and sinks to the floor, his arousal only intensified by the sudden lack of contact. Nero’s eyes are narrowed as he looks down his nose at him, and Ayel can only imagine how he looks like this: lips swollen and pupils blown dark, his cheeks burning green with desire and humiliation in equal parts.

Nero doesn’t talk as he undoes the fastenings of his pants, doesn’t talk as he guides his erection to Ayel’s waiting lips. He fucks Ayel’s face with a ruthless brutality, uncaring as the ridges of his cock scrape against the roof of his mouth and make him gag. Ayel lets his eyes fall closed and does his best to relax his throat, allowing himself to be used even as every cell in his body screams for air.

When Nero finally comes it’s without warning or ceremony. He holds Ayel in place with one hand while the other digs into his own thigh, a low groan escaping his throat as he thrusts into Ayel’s mouth one final time. Ayel swallows dutifully, working his throat around him until he feels Nero shudder with hypersensitivity and draw him off completely.

Nero slumps back on the bed, his eyes glazed as he slowly comes back to himself. His chest is heaving with exertion, causing fresh rivulets of blood to ooze out of his wounds and trickle down his chest. Ayel kneels before him, his erection throbbing between his legs, and takes in the sight of his Captain debauched and completely defenceless.

This too, is power.

“Will that be all, Captain?”

Nero’s eyes snap back to his, still hooded and dazed. Ayel licks his lips unconsciously, pretends not to notice as Nero tracks the movement.

“Dismissed.”

“Thank you Captain,” he says with a small incline of his head.

He rises to his feet on steady legs, feels the heat of his Captain’s gaze even as the door closes behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
